


The Wimbledon Experiment

by katehathaway



Series: More Than Tennis [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Tennis, American Harry Potter, American Hermione Granger, Angst, Athletes, Banter, Brits vs Americans, Chemistry on and off court, Competition, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Endless Hermione and Draco banter plus secret sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Even if you don't love tennis I guarantee you will enjoy this story, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Funny Commentary, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Humor, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Public Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Sports, Team Dynamics, Teasing, The Championships Wimbledon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehathaway/pseuds/katehathaway
Summary: Hermione Granger, new to the professional level of tennis, must prove her worth to the world; however, her archnemesis, Draco Malfoy, isn't about to make her debut year very easy. The tension on the court is palpable, but it is even more intense off the court.Sporty Muggle AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Series: More Than Tennis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788751
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	The Wimbledon Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another niche sport AU! If you haven't already, I highly recommend reading (or rereading) The Malfoy Theory for which this story preludes.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 1

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita:** "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to BBC Sports and thank you for tuning into our broadcast of the 2010 Wimbledon Championships, hosted by myself, Rita Skeeter, and my co-host, Gilderoy Lockhart."

 **Gilderoy:** "Excellent!"

 **Rita:** "Hm, yes… I suppose so. What _is_ excellent, ladies and gentlemen, is hosting this beautiful display of athleticism and sportsmanship! For those of you who don't know, or are just tuning in, Wimbledon is the third Grand Slam tennis event of the year. The fourth, and final, Grand Slam tennis event of the year will be the US Open at the end of the summer."

 **Gilderoy:** "The more the merrier, I say!"

 **Rita:** "Why – yes, Gilderoy – that would be ideal. Unfortunately, this year, our beloved Brits have not been doing _as_ _well_ as they usually do so, more opportunities to crush those American twa – I mean – display our proud British prowess would be phenomenal. Thus, the importance of this competition cannot be understated."

 **Gilderoy:** "Understatement isn't even in my _vocabulary_ , Rita! Excess or death, I always say!"

 **Rita:** "That explains so much."

 **Gilderoy:** "What does?"

 **Rita:** "Never mind… First day of the competition is now well underway, ladies and gentlemen, and let me tell you – Our athletes look _ravenous_ today! To start the day off we have the Men's Doubles with none other than our favorite English duo."

 **Gilderoy:** "Pride and Prejudice!"

 **Rita:** "No… Just no. The unstoppable team I am referring to is, of course, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. They are most definitely a force to be reckon with in this competition. Then again, so is Pansy Parkinson who is stepping out onto the center court to take on Hannah Abbott of Greece in the first Women's Singles match."

 **Gilderoy:** "Who?"

 **Rita:** "I would explain, but it seems that Parkinson is making quick work of her first match of the competition and sending Abbott chasing the ball all over the court. Well… I have no doubt Parkinson will dominate not only this match, but this whole competition! She certainly has the mindset for it."

 **Gilderoy:** "Brain power!"

 **Rita:** "Absolutely. Anyway, while Parkinson cleans up her first match, why don't we take a closer look at her Mixed Doubles partner, Draco Malfoy, who is currently warming up with his Men's Doubles partner, Theodore Nott."

* * *

"Who is _that?_ "

"Who?" Theo replied without sparing Draco a second glance. He accepted two proffered balls from the ball boy and bounced one repeatedly against the court; he tossed the ball in the air, dropped his shoulder into the perfect serving position, then launched the ball across the court. "Apologies, lads!" Theo called out as the ball collided with one of the opposing team's ankles.

"Watch it, Nott, or you're going to get us disqualified before the match even starts," snapped Draco.

"It was an accident," he supplied with a shrug and a roguish grin. Draco exhaled loudly, reaching into his shorts pocket for a ball, and muttered something unintelligent under his breath. Theo plucked at his racquet strings and added, "Anyway, what were you saying earlier?"

Draco attempted to nod as discreetly as he could to the stands on their left. "The girl in the black jumper with the most atrociously bushy hair," he said, "who is she – is she new?"

Theo's piercing blue gaze lingered in the stands for a breath longer than Draco would have been comfortable with, then fell back down on Draco's waiting expression with a knowing smirk. "She's not new," was all he said. Theo swiped a ball from Draco's shorts rather than wait for a ball boy; when it was obvious that he had no intention of divulging any more information, Draco sighed heavily.

"Well?" He pressed. "Who is she?"

"That," Theo grunted as he hurled another ball toward the opponents rather than the wall (which is where they were _supposed_ to be aiming their practice swings), "is Hermione Granger, American sweetheart as I've heard it,"

"Oh," said Draco, sparing another glimpse toward the stands; the girl, Hermione Granger, was leaning up against the bar in front of her, watching the four men warm up for their opening match with wide, brown eyes.

"You know," continued Theo with a derisive smirk, "she was just this invasive at the Australian and French Opens, too." He waited for Draco's head to snap around before adding, "She won the Mixed Doubles for both, if I recall correctly, though you would know that if your head had been anywhere but between Fleur's thighs the entire time."

"Piss off,"

Theo chuckled under his breath before flashing a particularly taunting grin at him. The match was soon underway, and Draco quickly rerouted his thoughts away from the attentive, bushy-haired girl and on the two men from Sweden who they were currently up against. It was over in the blink of an eye; Theo and Draco were not only the better team, but also the more compatible team.

Then again, they'd been teammates since they could walk and hold a racquet between their chubby, toddler hands.

Draco accepted a damp towel from one of their training aides, following him to physical therapy room. Theo, who had been in front of him, paused beside their exam tables to smirk mercilessly over Draco's shoulder. Draco recognized that look immediately; it meant trouble.

All of the air left his lungs in a single, rushed exhale; for half a beat, he wondered if that particular look was reserved for one bushy-haired tennis goddess coming their way. He stood abruptly and glanced over his shoulder to see an unruly head of hair entering the physical therapy space, but not the one he had been hoping for. Rather, the one he specifically _loathed_.

"Seriously?"

Theo shot him a quick wink over his shoulder before abandoning his post by the exam tables; he strolled over to the rehab treadmills. "Potter," he greeted, flashing a too-innocent smile.

"Nott," the other man growled. He shouldered past Theo's invasive stance and hopped on the only unoccupied treadmill, cranking the speed up to a high-intensity jog. When Potter realized that Theo had made himself comfortable leaning against the machine rather than leave him alone, huffed "What the hell do you want?"

"Nothing," beamed Theo.

Draco watched as Theo pressed his thumb firmly on one of the buttons, and, within seconds, Potter was forced to leap onto the edges of the treadmill rather than succumb to the terrifyingly fast speed Theo set. Theo chuckled, slapped Potter across his arse, then sauntered back over to where Draco sat. Potter's green eyes bore daggers into Theo's back.

"You're still fucking around with him?"

Theo held up a finger, "Correction, Malfoy," he said, "I am still _trying_ to fuck around with him."

"You're incorrigible," replied Draco, catching the physical therapist finally crossing the room to treat them. "The Board won't allow any fraternizing between athletes, Nott, you know that," he muttered, careful not to let anyone else overhear their conversation.

"Fraternizing," repeated Theo with raised brows, "you mean like when a man has his tongue - "

"Alright," cut in Draco, "enough. That was _purely_ physical, and besides, we were careful not to get caught."

"Well, there you have it. I'll make sure to be careful," he shrugged, finally letting the physical therapist work out a knot in his left hamstring. Theo winced, then leaned closer to Draco to add, "We both know the chase is half of the fun. I appreciate the warnings, Draco, but I would respectively like to point out that _you_ are in a far more precarious position with Delacour _and_ Granger."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 1

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee:** "Welcome back folks to another exciting Grand Slam! Thanks for tuning into NBC for your coverage of the 2010 Wimbledon Championships. I am Lee Jordan, your host, and this is Luna Lovegood, my spirited cohost! We are _very_ excited to be here in London, England, aren't we Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Chocolate frog, anyone?"

 **Lee:** "That doesn't sound even _remotely_ edible, Luna, but I applaud the enthusiasm! I have to say, folks, 2010 might be the year of the tiger, but it is _also_ the year of the lion! Hermione Granger, lioness and American princess all in one, has taken her international debut year and made it her own. It has truly been a pleasure to watch her dominate the Grand Slams so far, and, I don't know about you, Luna, but _I'm_ excited to see what she accomplishes!"

 **Luna:** "The wand chooses the wizard!"

 **Lee:** "Oh, sure. If by that you mean that Granger chose well in her partner, Tom Riddle, then I must say I agree with you wholeheartedly!"

 **Luna:** "Amortentia!"

 **Lee:** "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds nice! Now, speaking of the dynamic duo, Granger and Riddle, let's take a look at the latter of the two warming up for his first match. Riddle, for those of you who don't know, primarily was a Men's Singles athlete before his coach discovered Granger and granted us the pleasure of an exceptional Mixed Doubles team."

 **Luna:** "She has _got_ to sort out her priorities!"

 **Lee:** "I don't know about that, Luna. Riddle might be more commonly known as the Dark Lord in the world of tennis, but he _is_ an esteemed athlete. You can tell, simply from his aggressive approach on the court, that he means business!"

 **Luna:** "And is entirely _too_ fond of _Avada_ ,"

 **Lee:** "Is that what you call his killer forehand? Not that his backhand is necessarily a weak side for him – OH, THERE HE GOES – Incredible shot, and just as we were talking about it! How about that for coincidence, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "He's a skilled legilimens!"

 **Lee:** "Not sure that's the right word for it, but nevertheless, Riddle is remarkable. I, for one, ladies and gentlemen, am thrilled to see Riddle and Granger in the next coming days as the Mixed Doubles begins. For now, though, why don't we take a look at our newest American Men's Singles athlete, young Harry Potter?"

 **Luna:** "Fortuna major!"

* * *

Hermione watched as many matches in every tournament as she could, especially if her competitors were involved; that is, if they didn't interfere with her strict practice regimen. Hermione took her sport very seriously, which is why she spent hours perfecting her stances, eating a well-balanced diet, and pushing her body as far as it could go without breaking. At the moment, she was currently sitting in on a match containing one of her future competitors. Her gaze flickered from one side of the busy court to the other as the top English Men's team swiftly put the opposing Swedish team in their place.

The smug blond caught her eye.

More accurately, the smug blond caught her eye _again_ (Hermione had casually been keeping tabs on him since she first watched him play at the Australian Open some months ago). What was interesting, though, was that, this time, the smug blond returned her gaze. At the end of the match, as he ducked under the stands to head towards the physical therapy space, his stormy grey eyes bore into her shamelessly.

Hermione turned briskly away, hoping he wouldn't catch the heat rising to her cheeks, and steered herself in the complete opposite direction. Tom was over on the fourth court, she knew, and decided to pay him a visit; he took much too much delight in seeing her in the stands during his matches, but Hermione supposed a minor inflate to his already enormous ego was worth avoiding the obvious _sex eyes_ from the smug blond.

"What the - "

Hermione stopped short and retracted her steps at the violent grunts coming from the third court. She stepped cautiously into the stands and was taken aback by the sheer volume of people in attendance; with a quick glance over the stands for a spare seat, Hermione let out a sigh of relief when she saw a familiar face in the crowd.

"Hey," She said, sidling up next to a woman who she'd made friends with back at the Australian Open a few months ago, "What's going on here?"

"Oh, hey," greeted Angelina with a quick smile. "I'm glad you're here. I would have thought you would have been off running on one of England's many rolling green hills or otherwise counting macro's and berating the kitchen staff," she mocked.

Hermione shot her an impatient look and sighed, deflating at the warmth radiating from Angelina. "I ran this morning," she mumbled, ignoring the wiggling of the other woman's brows. " _Anyway_ ," Hermione went on, pointedly gesturing to the court below them, "What is this? Why is everyone and their mother here?"

"Oh, right," replied Angelina in her thick Australian accent, "My comrade is getting his arse handed to him," she chuckled, "I can't say he deserves it because Bill is a good guy, but Men's Singles really isn't his strong suit."

The two women surveyed the match before them, and Hermione couldn't help but agree after a few moments of observation; Bill Weasley was a brilliant tennis player when on a team with Angelina, but he was definitely struggling on his own.

"Why doesn't he stick to Doubles?" Pressed Hermione, digging out a water flask from her gym bag and taking a languid sip. "Is that – _Potter's_ the one making Bill run around the court all crazy like that? Holy shit,"

"Yeah," scoffed Angelina. "He's one of yours, isn't he?"

Hermione pursed her lips, "He's American, sure, but he's not one of _mine_ , Ang,"

"Potato, potato," she shrugged in response. "Either way, he's not doing too bad for a kid."

"Hey," Hermione snapped instinctively, " _I'm_ only a few months older than him." Angelina, who was a few years older and had quickly taken Hermione under her wing, laughed and elbowed her playfully, but Hermione only rolled her eyes.

Hermione, a few months shy of nineteen, was by far one of the youngest tennis players in the Grand Slam tournaments. Harry Potter, evidently, was _the_ youngest. Both of them had similar backgrounds, she knew, with their lack of formal tennis practice; until just a couple of years ago, neither of them had so much as picked up a racquet. It beguiled most of the tennis community and immediately dubbed them as underdogs. Hermione didn't mind that, because it meant she would likely be underestimated by her competition; a mistake.

"Well," she finally said, rising to her feet and slinging her gym bag over her shoulder, "I'm going to try and catch the end of Tom's match." Angelina nodded wordlessly; her dark eyes trained on the two men sprinting around the court. "For what it's worth," Hermione added offhandedly, and to no one in particular, "Potter may be distressingly erratic with his movements, but he's got natural talent."

Hermione strode into the fourth court with just enough time to catch Tom punching a fist into the air and screaming bloody murder; he must have won, she mused internally.

"I don't know what you're so ecstatic about," she drawled, leaning up against the locker room door and blocking his entrance. "That should have been an easy win for you."

"It _was_ a win, Hermione," he scoffed.

"No," she corrected, "I saw the final score. You barely had him, and Rookwood should have been much easier for you to beat."

"You know," murmured Tom as he shifted to stand closer to her, "If I didn't know any better, Hermione, I would say you sound _concerned_ about me." He stepped closer again; their chests were one breath away from one another, and Hermione had to fight not to look away from his piercing blue eyes.

"Hardly,"

"Hm," he grunted. A small, taunting smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, then he pushed through the locker room door, leaving Hermione outside. Except, Hermione wasn't afraid of barging into the men's locker room so, she followed without a moment of hesitation. Tom peeled his sweat-slicked shirt over his head, tussling his black curls, and caught Hermione's eye as she took a seat on the bench. "Miss me?"

"No."

Tom's cocky smirk only deepened; Hermione bristled.

"Just because we're teammates now doesn't mean we can't still - "

"Yes," she cut in, rising to her feet. "Yes, it does. I have strict rules, Tom. I told you that before we – Never mind – That is never happening again."

"Never say never, Hermione," he taunted.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, gave him one last glare, then turned swiftly around the corner and smacked rather hard into something… or more accurately, _someone_.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 4

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita:** "Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! I must say, so far the tournament has been a whirlwind of excitement, and there is still so much more to come!"

 **Gilderoy:** "Marvelous!"

 **Rita:** "Right you are, Gilderoy. The past few days we have had the pleasure of watching Parkinson run the Women's Singles just as we knew she would. She only has a few more matches left before she moves in to take the gold – because, honestly, who else is going to dethrone her? – and then she'll be starting the Mixed Doubles with her longtime friend and partner, Draco Malfoy."

 **Gilderoy:** "They should date!"

 **Rita:** "No, no. They can't do that, or they would be disqualified."

 **Gilderoy:** "Boooo!"

 **Rita:** "In other news… Malfoy, like Parkinson, also competes in more than one category. He and his Men's Doubles partner, Theodore Nott, have been doing exceedingly well so far. Only the Bulgarian team, Karkaroff and Dolohov, have given them a run for their money. Let's keep our fingers crossed, ladies and gentlemen, that our beloved British boys manage to secure the win in the next coming days."

 **Gilderoy:** "Go! Fight! Win!"

 **Rita:** "Is that – Are you _cheering?_ What was that hand movement you just did?"

 **Gilderoy:** "What movement? I didn't do anything… Have you always worn glasses?"

 **Rita:** "Yes – I – Anyway, as I was saying – Oh, my! Is that the _Queen?_ Yes – Yes, it is. Ladies and gentlemen, this is very exciting, it appears as though _the Queen of England_ has decided to sit in on one of today's matches! I wonder who it will – OH, AND IT'S PARKINSON – Truly splendid choice – Well, hopefully our Parkinson doesn't fold under the pressure."

 **Gilderoy:** "Under pressure!"

 **Rita:** "What?"

 **Gilderoy:** "Another one bites the dust!"

 **Rita:** "Don't _say_ that, Gilderoy. You absolute baboon – LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THE QUEEN WAVED TO PARKINSON – OH GOODNESS, SHE WAVED BACK – OH, AND NOW THEY'RE SMILING. MY WORD THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE _EVER_ WITNESSED."

* * *

"Hey," Theo said, "Pansy's looking for you. Something about how we've all been neglecting to bow down to her – or was it about a practice match she wanted to do Sunday? I can't remember, exactly, but either way, she's looking for you."

"Which is precisely why I'm getting the bloody hell out of here," Draco quipped.

"Probably a good call," nodded Theo in response. "She's been positively unbearable since that whole thing with Elizabeth."

"Did you just… Did you just refer to _the Queen_ by her first name?" Draco blinked, startled. Theo only shrugged, waving off the accusation as if it was week-old lint on his shoulder. Draco shook his head, then bent to double knot his trainers. "If you see Pans just pretend like you didn't see me, ok?"

"Easy enough. You're quite forgettable," he turned on his heel – most likely to go search for Potter to torment since they had a free afternoon – and, as soon as he turned the corner, shouted, "PAAAAAANSSYYYYYYY. HE'S OVER HEEEEEEERE."

"Bloody hell, Theo," cursed Draco under his breath.

It was the first day of the competition that Draco had a vacant schedule and he had no plans of sacrificing it for whatever Pansy wanted them to do to prepare for their upcoming matches. Instead, Draco planned to take advantage of the surprisingly beautiful London day and ditch the arena for a nice outdoor run.

Except, someone else had evidently had the same idea.

And of all the bloody running paths in the Wimbledon Commons, she just had to pick this one at this time.

"Hey, Granger," he huffed as he caught up to her on the wooded path.

"Holy shit!" She nearly lost her footing – which was disconcertingly adorable – and shot him a harsh glare. "What the hell are you doing?" She didn't wait for his response before going on. "Wait – Are you stalking me?"

"Stalking you?" Draco repeated with a scoff. "If anything, Granger, _you_ are the one stalking _me,_ "

"Says the one who snuck up on me in the middle of my run, in a massive park, and no where _near_ the arena," she retorted between gasping breaths as the trail suddenly inclined.

Draco chuckled under his breath, reveling in the lactic acid burn in his calves. "Says the one who, quite literally, _ran_ into me in the men's locker room _and_ watched all three matches I've had so far – don't bother trying to deny it. I know you know I've seen you in the stands."

"I won't deny it," she replied with a haughty grin. "But don't flatter yourself. I watch most of the matches. In fact – hold on – which privileged English aristocrat are you again? What's your name?"

Draco halted.

She stopped soon after, glancing back with an amused smirk spreading across her flushed expression.

"You know my name," he said. Draco crossed the short space between them in seconds; when Granger backed up, creating more distance, he stepped forward again. "You know my name," he repeated, smirking down at her chest rising and falling heavily. From the intensive cardio, or from his proximity to her, it was difficult to tell. Draco, feeling especially optimistic, decided to believe Granger's labored breathing was because of the latter. "You know it, and you're going to say it."

Her expression immediately soured.

"What are you going to do - _make_ me say it?"

"No," Draco drawled, letting his gaze purposefully drop to her lips, then her neck, before meeting her big brown eyes again. "You'll say it on your own accord." Draco backed up, pausing to whisper in her ear, "Beg with it, if we're being honest," then he jogged further down the path, back towards the arena for a long, cold shower.

Draco should have known something was off when he went to open the door to his and Theo's hotel suite and the door was locked; it was never locked. Miraculously, though, Draco happened to be wearing the same quarter-zip he wore when he checked into the hotel, which meant that – against all odds – the hotel key card was in one of its inner pockets.

"Fucking hell," he gaped, immediately turning to face the wall rather than glimpse again at the sight he walked in on. "NOTT," he bellowed, "Are you kidding me? On the dining table? We _eat_ there!"

Some shuffling and then, "Relax, Draco. Potter was just about to leave," he paused, and Draco could practically hear the mischievous grin spreading across his face, "Well, _technically_ , Potter was just about to come, but -"

"Nope," he sighed, opening the hotel door and storming out, "Nope, no. Not doing this – Not getting involved – I'll just – Shower in the arena locker rooms," he muttered to himself, willing the images to please, for the love of all things good, not burn in the back of his mind.

As it turns out, he wasn't going to have much more luck at the arena.

"Malfoy," trilled an angelic voice with a heavy French accent, "Long time no see, _oui_?"

He sighed. Draco turned to see the tall and slender blonde woman he'd spent the better part of the year fucking. Ordinarily, he would get a semi just from the sight of her striding up to him – the irresistible sway of her hips – but not this time. In fact, he was quite sure that particular habit was done for; much like their completely physical relationship.

"Delacour," he greeted amicably.

"You are going to _la douche_ , _oui?_ " Her blue eyes flitted expectantly over his shoulder, then down his torso. "I can help," she murmured, batting her eyes coquettishly.

Draco thought about it for a millisecond.

On the one hand, he could very much use a release for all of the tension building in his muscles from the strange afternoon. Plus, he hadn't had sex in a month or so and his imagination wasn't entirely as satisfying as he wished it was. Then again, whenever he closed his eyes lately, all he saw were big brown eyes and a bushy head of curls; not the sleek blonde ponytail and pleading blue eyes stood before him.

"No," he finally said, putting more distance between himself and Fleur. "I can't," he told her firmly, "we can't do that anymore. It's – Err – I mean – It's not - "

"It's not you, it's me? _Sérieusement?_ "

Draco fumbled, but Fleur brushed off his paled expression with a quick flick of her wrist. "It's is nothing, Malfoy," she assured him with a gentle shrug of her shoulders, " _c'est la vie, oui?_ I will find someone else here to be my… friend," she smirked. Draco blinked. Fleur placed a kiss to either side of his cheek before leaving him to mutter incoherently under his breath.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 4

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee:** "Welcome back, folks! It's another beautiful day here in Wimbledon, and we have very exciting news for you, don't we, Luna?"

 **Luna:** " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

 **Lee:** "Perfect! Totally! That's exactly right! The first week of the tournament is almost over, which means the Men's Singles is coming to an end, and – my _goodness_ – what a thrilling journey it has been so far. Our two Americans, Riddle and Potter, have been sweeping the competition cleanly, and today they will be facing on one another in the _final_."

 **Luna:** "May 2, 1998!"

 **Lee:** "What? Actually, never mind. So, ladies and gentlemen, here we go! The match has just begun. Wow, already a pretty shocking start – You can just _see_ the difference in these two athletes. Riddle, known for his prowess and deadly swings, is commanding the court. Meanwhile, Potter, who has unforeseen natural talent, is wildly sprinting back and forth chasing the ball."

 **Luna:** "He should be chasing _the snitch_ ,"

 **Lee:** "Sure, sure, Luna. Oh – This is interesting – It looks as though Potter's erratic, and completely unorthodox, methods are beginning to pay off! Riddle is starting to really work up a sweat, folks – He doesn't look pleased at _all_ – OH MY GOD, POTTER SAVED HIMSELF WITH THAT DROP SHOT – That came out of _nowhere_ , and now he's won the second set, leaving Riddle without a score to his name."

 **Luna:** "The prophecy unfolds!"

 **Lee:** "That would certainly explain this shocking turn of events! Riddle is one of the most revered players, and, while Potter is tremendously talented, he is also new to the sport. In the past two Grand Slams, Riddle placed – of course – in first, with Potter somewhere below the podium. However, it doesn't seem like that will be the case today, folks!"

 **Luna:** "Enemies of the heir beware!"

 **Lee:** "That seems a bit extreme – HE'S DONE IT AGAIN – I repeat, Potter has done it again! This is – I have no words – Harry Potter has just _won_. In a _love game_ against previous champion _Tom Riddle_ no less! This is unprecedented!"

* * *

"You played well out there, especially considering you have two left feet," taunted Hermione.

Harry jumped about ten feet in the air, abruptly slammed his locker shut, and lifted a hand to his dramatically rising chest. "What the hell?" He blinked, surveying the room. "What are you _doing_ in here?" He demanded, though he looked less threatening and more timid than anything else. "Wait – Did you just say I have _two_ left feet?"

Hermione smirked, "I did." She paused, tilting her head and letting her gaze sweep across his frazzled state. "You do." She quickly waved her hand before he could utter another idiotic question and got down to business. "Listen, you may have won today's match – again, impressive – but you won't be able to do it again. Not with that footing, and certainly not with those erratic twitches you call swings," she chided.

He scowled.

"Who are you again?" Harry snapped.

Hermione dimpled, offering him her hand, "Hermione Granger, I'm - "

"Riddle's partner," he scoffed. "Of course. Did you really think coming in here and telling me I'm trash is really going to intimidate me? You're wrong," said Harry; his black eyebrows furrowed, and his lips contorted in obvious displeasure.

"Huh," murmured Hermione to herself, "Brave, too. I like it. Stupid," she added under her breath, letting her brown eyes scrutinize Harry's muscles, "but brave." Then, she cleared her throat and spoke up, drawing Harry's attention away from his post-match routine and back to the woman who had barged in on it. "Here's what we're going to do. _You_ are going to work on that backhand of yours, as well as your footing. Seriously, you're going to snap an Achilles the way you're going. _I_ am going to help you, naturally, and look into the Grand Slam guidelines for a loophole. _Then_ \- "

"Whoa, whoa," Harry interrupted, cutting off her ranting. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hermione sighed.

"I'm offering you a spot on my team – to replace Riddle."

He gaped. Hermione waited for him to regain the ability to form a cohesive thought. "We – I – You – What? _Why?_ " At the formation of a relative question – _finally_ – she grinned mischievously and took a seat on the bench, patting the space beside her. Harry sat, somewhat reluctantly, but Hermione imagined his curiosity was driving his compliance.

"Because," she replied. "You're good, and I like to win."

"And you think you can win with… me?"

Without missing a beat, Hermione said, "Yes."

"Didn't you _just_ say - "

"Yes, yes," she cut in, waving off his confusion. Predictable. "I meant what I said. You're good, but you're still flawed. They aren't terrible flaws, though, and are ones that can definitely be improved upon. Your swing, for example? All you need to do is learn how to be more in control. It requires discipline." She shrugged.

Harry, still on edge, pressed his lips into a thin line. "And my footing?" He challenged.

Hermione beamed. "That," she told him, "has a much easier fix. You need to share the court. You need someone else on your side that can help you, work _with_ you, and step in when something is out of your range." She smirked at him, sensing that he was catching onto what she was proposing. "You need _me_."

Harry blinked.

Hermione stood, patted down her pleated skirt and headed toward the door. "Meet me tomorrow night. Second court." She paused, then added, "If we're lucky, I'll be able to find a loophole before then, and _then_ we'll have a few days _at most_ \- "

"Wait," cut in Harry, "What about Riddle?"

"Fuck him," she tossed over her shoulder.

"What – just like that?" He pressed.

Hermione sighed. Tom was a superb athlete, and given her early defense of him to Harry, she could see the hesitation in his eyes to trust her. But she also knew anything she said right now wouldn't earn his trust; that would require much more effort. Effort she planned on putting in over the next few days. Besides, Tom may be an exceptional athlete, but he was terrible on a team and not all of his flaws could be fixed.

"Yeah," she finally said, "just like that."

The adrenaline coursed through her veins. Hermione could taste the victory on the tip of her tongue. She hadn't been this excited for a match since her first breakout match as an international competitor. Now, all she had to do was get rid of Tom; she was sure there was something in the guidelines that would allow her to replace him, and she just needed to find it.

Though, Hermione thought, pausing mid-step, that would have to wait.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of silver. The past few hours that particular smug blond left her with an _itch_ she couldn't scratch; Hermione had a healthy relationship with masturbation, but with him within arm's reach, why should she have to resort to such a means to an end? Besides, it had been a long time since she'd had sex – _too_ long.

Hermione, emboldened by her new scheme, followed Malfoy (oh, yes – she definitely knew his name; not that she would ever tell him that). He ducked around a couple of corners in the back alleys of the arena. Hermione wasn't exactly sure where he was going until he turned sharply into the physical therapy room.

Except, when Hermione stepped into the dark room, it was empty.

"Looking for me?"

She spun on her heel and barely repressed a gasp. "You have _got_ to stop sneaking up on me like that," she reprimanded. He, however, looked _more_ smug – if that was even possible – at her response.

"I keep telling you, Granger," he tutted. "It's you who is stalking me."

This time, that was true. But Hermione would be damned if she ever let him know that so, she quickly averted her gaze and walked further into the room. "How do you know I didn't come in here to massage a sore muscle of mine?"

He stepped closer to her; close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

"Did you?"

Hermione purposely let her eyes drop to the pink of his lips, then back up to the stormy grey of his eyes. "No," she murmured in confession. Hermione inhaled sharply and willed herself – for once in her life – not to _think_. She stretched up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips firmly to his.

They were warm and inviting; he tasted like salt and bad decisions and she _loved_ it.

"Granger - "

"Shut up," she whispered against his lips, "just shut up and kiss me."

"Oh, don't worry," he murmured back, tightening his grip on her hips, "I'll do more than just kiss you."

And much to Hermione's utter dismay, she was wholly incapable of repressing a soft whimper at the unspoken promise as his tongue slid along hers, deepening the kiss.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Middle Sunday (Rest Day)

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita:** "It is officially the middle Sunday of Wimbledon, ladies and gentlemen, and you know what that means."

 **Gilderoy:** "Signing copies of my autobiography?"

 **Rita:** "No, Gilderoy. It _means_ that there will be no matches today, in any category. Today is a complete rest day for everyone! And while it means there will be no new matches to cover, there are plenty of ones from earlier this week that deserve additional highlights, don't you think?"

 **Gilderoy:** "Well, _I_ think it's - "

 **Rita:** "Wonderful. Let's start by covering our beloved Pansy Parkinson, shall we? The winner of the Women's Singles and favorite of the Queen…"

* * *

Draco squinted at the bright light streaming into his room. His head ached; it was too early for him to be awake after the night he had. Speaking of…

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" He asked a tinge unkindly. She was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room and – unlike him – looked overly prepared for the day; her bushy curls were pulled tightly into a high ponytail, which bobbed in front of her face as she bent over to tie her trainers.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going for a run," she snapped back impatiently.

He arched a brow at her expectantly. "Fine," he huffed, throwing the sheets to the side. "I'll join you."

"No," she replied instantly.

"Why not?"

"Because," she sighed. "We're not friends. We're just – that was the last time - "

"You say that every time," he reminded her primly. "Besides, Granger, I'm not trying to be your friend." She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. Draco groaned inwardly. He reached for his training trousers and pulled them on, shooting her an equally exasperated look. "Listen," he said, picking out a dry-fit shirt, "I really could use a run. Not to mention, Pans will probably be busting down my door any minute with the pretense of wanting to condition for our matches this week. I don't want anything to do with that,"

At that, a hint of a smirk pulled at her lips.

"Why?" She asked too-innocently; taunting him. "You should probably join her, you know. Not me. God knows you could use the extra practice,"

"Are you seriously trying to imply that you and Riddle are going to beat us this time? Because _that's_ definitely not happening," Draco quipped, adding, "not again," under his breath when he opened the door and checked to make sure the coast was clear before ushering her behind him.

"No," she drawled in a strangely girlish tone. It struck Draco as immensely odd, but he cleared the behavior from his head the minute they stepped out onto the street.

The run was enjoyable; Granger was able to keep a fairly advanced pace given her short stride in comparison to his. There was a reason she was such an incredible athlete, he mused. When they both slowed at the end of the fifth mile, she turned to him with a furrowed brow.

"What are you going to do now," she asked, "to avoid Parkinson?"

"I'm sure I'll come up with something," he shrugged, shooting her a flirtatious smirk.

"Really?" She exclaimed, glancing around the wooded path. "Here?" He shrugged again. She scoffed, shaking her head and barely hiding the smile that broke out across her face from him. "You're incorrigible," she added.

Draco caught her next breath in his.

His thumb drew across the line of her jaw, then he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her chin up. His lips slid down the fragile skin of her neck, feeling her steady pulse under his touch and reveling in the increased rhythm when he nipped at her throat.

"You don't seem too opposed to the idea," he murmured against her collarbone.

"No," she exhaled heavily, "I suppose I'm not."

Draco took the green light and lifted her, cupping her bum firmly between his palms. She let out a soft, feminine gasp and it drove him mad with want. He carried her off the path, deeper into the woods, then pressed her up against a sturdy tree, careful not to be too rough with the maneuver. Her legs wrapped around his hips; her heels dug into his spine, and her hands fumbled with the drawstring of his trousers.

"I thought you said last night was _the last time_ , Granger," he teased, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth.

"This," she panted, taking his length in her hand – it was throbbing; he stifled a groan, burying it in her damp curls – "is the last time,"

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Middle Sunday (Rest Day)

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee:** "Rest day! Rest day! Rest day! Today's the day, folks! No competitions, today! Which means that today's broadcast will be filled with tons of fun coverage of our Golden Trio – Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Tom Riddle."

 **Luna:** "No, no. It's supposed to be _Weasley_ not Riddle."

 **Lee:** "Bill Weasley? But he's not even – He's _Australian_ , Luna – He can't be - "

 **Luna:** "Not him - "

 **Lee:** "Well, I was going to say - "

 **Luna:** " _Ronald_ Weasley. Though, I can see how you can be confused, with his middle name being Bilius. Not to mention, they _are_ brothers and - "

 **Lee:** "Wait – _Who?_ – Never mind. Why don't we begin by going over highlights of our Golden Girl in anticipation for her first match of Wimbledon coming up?"

* * *

"Remind me," she said, stepping into the dimly lit room, "Why are we here again?" _Here_ , being one of the private wellness rooms in the arena.

"Because," Malfoy replied gruffly, flicking on the yellowed lights, "I'm avoiding Pansy and you're avoiding Riddle – for reasons you won't tell me," he paused to glance back at her, but Hermione simply shrugged.

"He's an asshole," she wasn't planning on elaborating; he would find out soon enough, anyway.

"Right," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "So, it has nothing to do with the fact that he's been pining over you the whole competition?" At Hermione's sharp glare, he bore a smug expression. "Anyway," he went on in a lighter tone, "My hotel room is off-limits, as is yours."

"Still," she pressed, skeptically surveying the room. "Why _here_?"

He shrugged.

"No one will come looking for us here. Everyone else is taking their rest day very seriously," his grey eyes landed on hers with a knowing smirk, "unlike _some_ people."

"You didn't _have_ to join me this morning," she reminded him. "Besides," she teased, switching her tone to one a bit more flirtatious, "I thought you enjoyed the workout. You seemed plenty _satisfied_ to me."

Malfoy's lips twitched at the corners, and his gaze darkened.

"Speaking of satisfaction," he drawled, pulling her closer to him.

At this point, Hermione didn't bother fighting the sexual chemistry. Wimbledon would come and go, and Draco Malfoy would be no more than a notch on her bed post and a competitor left in the dust; she would still win. His dexterity would not derail her victory – or rather, it would not derail her _tennis_ victory; it would, however, guarantee a different type of victory altogether.

His fingers slid aside her panties, and she shivered as his expert touch brought her to the edge in minutes, then sent her careening over it.

"Holy _fuck_ ," she breathed in his ear, tilting her chin back to expose her neck to his lips. "Yes – there – yes _yes_ yes – oh _fuckyes_ – I – _Oh_ ,"

Hermione came with his name on the tip of her tongue but was swift enough to swallow it rather than say it aloud. It seemed, however, that Malfoy picked up on this particular fact. Something dangerous – and hot, so hot – flashed behind his grey eyes.

"Stubborn, aren't you, Granger?" He chuckled. His hand slid out from the slickness of her panties, then brushed against her inner thigh briefly, causing goosebumps to rise, then peeled the soaked cotton from her legs. He flipped her over, pressing her chest against the cool fabric of the examination table; Malfoy's timber voice echoed in her ears as he thrust himself slowly into her. "Don't worry. I still stand by what I said before. You know my name, and you're going to be begging for me with it soon enough. _That_ , I promise you."

"How are you so sure that that is going to happen?" She replied, bucking her hips in beat with his and creating a sensational friction; the heat between her legs began building again. "If your tactics haven't worked thus far," she panted.

"Tactics," he laughed; his chest vibrating against her spine. "It's cute that you think this is me _trying_ , Granger,"

Hermione bit down on her lip hard.

"Well, if you had any real desire to achieve your goal, then shouldn't you be _trying_?"

He abruptly pulled out of her; she felt his absence like a slap to the face and wondered if perhaps she had taken their banter too far. Before she could form a cohesive thought, though, he had already returned his searing touch to her skin. He pulled her back to him, swiveled her hips and pressed her back against the soft fabric. He angled his body so that her dramatically rising and falling breasts met his sweat-slicked chest with every ragged breath.

"Is that what you want?" Malfoy murmured, teasing her by adjusting the tip of his cock to sit _just_ on the sensitive lips of her cunt. "You want me to try, do you? You want me to make you scream my name? Well," he said, brushing his lips against hers, "be careful what you wish for, Granger."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 9

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita:** "Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! As ever, it is a pleasure to be here at Wimbledon."

 **Gilderoy:** "Remarkable!"

 **Rita:** "Yes, yes. Quite. I'm thrilled to announce that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson have just won their second match of the week! The pair must both be reeling from their recent victories in other categories because their attitude on the court has been phenomenal. Parkinson, who took gold in the Women's Singles, sent the Italians yesterday running for the hills with every serve."

 **Gilderoy:** "I would never run, because I'm not a _coward_."

 **Rita:** "Sure, Gilderoy. Then, today against the Canadian team, Malfoy perfectly executed not one, but _two_ drop shots. I believe the Canadians actually let a frown form on their predominantly cheery expressions after that match."

 **Gilderoy:** "Sensational!"

 **Rita:** "Hmm. Well, it _was_ an exciting match. With only a few days left of Wimbledon, and only _one_ more match before the finals, our Brits have a pretty clear path to victory ahead of them the way they're playing. That is – assuming the American team doesn't swoop in to take the gold. _Again_."

 **Gilderoy:** "They might!"

 **Rita:** "Hush, Gilderoy."

* * *

Draco took the proffered towel from the training aide and wiped at the sweat trickling down his face. At the sharp elbow to his ribs, Draco nearly coughed up a lung. "Ouch," he seethed under his breath, aware that as the winners of the match they were being watched excruciatingly closely. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

" _Smile_ ," instructed Pansy between gritted teeth. Her pearly whites flashed brilliantly before the cheering crowd. She looped her arm in his and steered them toward the crestfallen Canadians. "Good match," she dimpled. "Very well done."

They mumbled their congratulations and swiftly exited the court.

Draco saw Pansy's elbow coming that time and narrowly avoided it by spinning out of her grasp to blow dramatic kisses as the crowd. Step by step, they made their way to the tunnel that ran under the stands; in the cool shade, both of them dropped their jaunty facades.

"Well," huffed Pansy. "That could have been smoother."

"Smoother?" Echoed Draco, aghast. "Where? Our moves were perfectly in sync, and our countermoves were far superior to theirs. They stood no chance, despite the close call in the second set, and you know it."

"I'm just saying," sniped Pansy, accepting a water bottle and amino-acid drink from their assistant coach wordlessly. "It could have been better. There's always room for improvement,"

"Which you keep reminding me," he muttered, stretching his forearm across his chest. She shot him a side glare, pressing her lips into a thin line. Draco sighed. "Fine, fine. We can train tomorrow before our next match. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Pansy remarked drily. "Why not tonight? Unless, that is, you have plans I don't know about?"

"Perhaps, I do," Draco replied evasively. He was careful to maintain eye contact with her, knowing that if he were to break it, she would surely take that poorly. He didn't want her getting any ideas about what he was _actually_ planning on doing that night.

"You know what?" She remarked, holding her hands up in apparent defeat. "I don't care. Just don't hurt yourself and don't be late tomorrow. So long as whatever you're up doesn't interfere with our chances at gold, then I don't care." Pansy strode away, leaning into one their aides and arranging for a hot-cupping session, no doubt.

Draco, meanwhile, nodded to the other aide who lingered behind to tend to his physical needs; hot-cupping was not necessarily his thing, but a full-body massage, however, he could use. His triceps and calves were both sore; though, to be fair to tennis, it wasn't entirely the sports fault.

Hermione Granger had exceedingly high endurance levels that Draco was constantly working to match – or better.

That night, he snuck out to her room. There were the usual rules to their _purely physical_ non-relationship that Draco had come to expect; not being seen with each other in public, no getting attached, and no sentimental gestures. For some bizarre reason, they also agreed not to exchange numbers. So, when Draco arrived at her hotel room, he had to use their signature knock to let her know he was outside.

Except, just as he raised his fist to the door, he caught Granger's voice on the other end, along with one his didn't recognize; a male voice, deep and demanding.

Sensing trouble, Draco quickly backed away and ducked behind a corridor, peering around to see the door fly open and two figures storm into the hallway.

"I told you, Tom, we're done." Granger snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hermione," scoffed the other man – evidently, Tom – "We both know the real reason why you did that." His tall, overbearing frame leered over her smaller one, and a mischievous glint flashed behind his eyes. Draco didn't like the way he looked at her, and he _definitely_ didn't like the way he leaned forward to touch her. "I'm not even mad about it. I know you only did that because you miss having me in your bed," Tom taunted.

Granger, much to his utter relief, yanked her hand away from him.

"We're _done_. What part of that don't you understand? I don't want you beside me on the court, and I don't want you _in my bed_. For fuck's sake, Tom," she hissed. "Leave."

"You don't really want me to go, Hermione," he murmured.

" _Yes_ , I do. Leave me the _fuck_ alone, Tom."

"Hermione - "

"Hey," Draco snapped, before he even realized what he'd done. Both of their heads swiveled to face him as he stepped into the hallway. "She said leave." He growled in a low, warning tone. "If I were you," he went on, striding up to Tom and sizing the other man up and down pointedly. "I would get the hell out of here. Don't want to cause a scene, do you?"

Draco wasn't nearly his size; at a quick glance, the obvious choice in a fight would be Tom, but Draco was exceptionally skilled at hand-to-hand combat. It was something he'd been forced to learn since he was a child, because, apparently, if his mother could start Draco on a tennis career, then his father could teach him how to fight like a man ( _his_ wording).

"Hm," grunted Tom, flashing his teeth at Draco before dropping his gaze to Granger's. "I see. Interesting…"

Luckily, he did leave.

Granger's wide brown eyes followed his receding figure all the way to the lift, then settled them on Draco with a shaky exhale. "You realize he's probably going to go to the Board now, right? He's not above playing dirty,"

Draco shrugged.

"Worth it. He seems like a knob,"

"A knob?" She asked, ushering him into her hotel room.

"A dick," Draco replied. Her American accent was adorable.

"Oh," she laughed, "Yes, Tom is most definitely a _knob_."

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 9

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee:** "Welcome back, folks! I must say, there is a _lot_ of conversation regarding our darling Hermione Granger and I feel like we should – that we have the responsibility to – clear things up. Don't you agree, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Do Nifflers like shiny objects?"

 **Lee:** "No idea! Right, let's get into it, shall we? Two days ago, just before the first Mixed Doubles match, Tom Riddle was _replaced_ by Harry Potter as Hermione Granger's partner! Unprecedented, folks! There's been a lot of speculation among the tennis community as to _why_ that is,"

 **Luna:** "You're just as sane as I am."

 **Lee:** "My, my! The most popular theory, Luna, is quite insane. Sources believe Granger and Riddle were intimate with one another! Totally against the rules, of course, which is absurd because we all know how Granger is a stickler for the rules."

 **Luna:** "Rules are made to be broken!"

 **Lee:** "Not in this sport, Luna! But don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, because we have breaking news from the Board itself about what really happened."

 **Luna:** "She found Tom Riddle's diary?"

 **Lee:** "Not this time! Though, who's to say that _won't_ happen? No – get this – apparently Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, has been using performance enhancing drugs! He has thus been disqualified from participating in any event for the next _two years_ as a probationary caution. Granger, who would have otherwise had to forfeit her matches for the rest of the calendar year, managed to find a loophole!"

 **Luna:** "A time-turner?"

 **Lee:** "Don't know what that is, but I don't think so! No, Granger was able to prove that Harry Potter, as a current member of Team USA, is able to replace Riddle for any further events so long as both parties agreed!"

 **Luna:** "Nargles!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, yes! So exciting! Speaking of our new dynamic duo, folks, here they come! Granger and Potter, now nicknamed _the Chosen One_ , are stepping out onto the court to face the French team, Delacour and Macaron."

* * *

Hermione rapped on Harry's hotel door. It opened to reveal a tall, lean, messy black-haired boy who was decidedly _not_ Harry. Hermione blinked, then cleared her throat softly. "Hello," she said, peering behind the boy to see Harry racing toward the door with a frenzied expression across his face. "I'm Hermione Granger and… you are?"

"Granger, was it?" The boy smirked, shaking her hand and finally letting her inside. "I'm Theodore Nott, but you can just call me Theo," he winked. Hermione nodded, then glanced nervously to Harry who looked two parts panicked and one part furious.

"Sorry about him," he said quickly. "He's not – this isn't – Err,"

"It's fine Harry," Hermione assured him quickly. "I'll keep your secret just – hurry up, alright? I wanted to get to the court early to practice on my serve a bit more. Plus, your backhand could still use - "

"Yes, alright. Fine. I'll be right back," he turned swiftly, heading towards the bathroom, then paused in the doorway to point an accusatory finger at Theo. "Behave," he hissed.

"I make no promises, Potter," smirked Theo.

When Harry finally shut the door behind him, Hermione exhaled loudly. She raised her brows at Theo expectantly. "Think he bought it?"

"What, _him?_ " Theo scoffed. "Yeah, he definitely bought that. He hasn't suspected a thing, though, he is rather unaware of his surroundings most of the time." Theo shook his head, biting down on his lip to hide a smile. "He's such a rotter. Oh, and don't worry about the whole secret thing. I doubt this will be a secret for much longer,"

Hermione scrutinized his smug expression.

Rather than believe he meant that their relationship would end soon, however, Hermione could tell Theo meant the very opposite. "You like him." She noted aloud. "You _like_ like him."

"What are we, twelve, Granger? Come on, now,"

She shot him a quick glare.

"Yes, _fine_. Bloody hell," he grimaced. "You truly are a menace, you know that, don't you?" She shrugged affectionately, and he continued. "If I'm being honest, I've been meaning to retire for a while now – and, yes, I _know_ I'm young – but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. Mostly, for Draco," he paused knowingly, and Hermione averted her gaze. "Now," continued Theo, "I think I'll retire."

His blue eyes cut across the room, landing on the bathroom door.

Hermione smiled weakly. "For him?" At Theo's guarded expression, she added, "Not everyone would _frame another athlete_ in order to get not them, but their loved one - "

"Whoa," cut in Theo, "Slow down there, Granger. No one said anything about _loved ones_ \- "

" _You_ may not still be in denial, Nott, but that's almost certainly what you two are. Anyway, thank you. For your hand in the whole… thing," she finished lamely, flicking her wrist.

Theo shrugged. "I never liked that Riddle bloke, but remember, it's only earned him an extended probation. He's out this year, but he won't be out forever." At the sound of the lock clicking on the bathroom door, Theo abruptly stood from his position on the bed and began pacing the length of the room. He brandished a finger toward Hermione. "- and that's why you can never be too careful in pubs around here!"

Harry sighed.

"Really?" He asked. "The thing with Quirrell again?"

"He was a sketchy bloke," sniffed Theo.

The three of them walked from the hotel to the arena mostly in silence, aside from the occasional conspiracy theory from Theo. Once they'd entered the prep-room for the court they were supposed to be competing at today, Hermione broke away from the two men to retrieve her usual energy drink from one of the training aides.

"Hey,"

She spun on her heel and nearly yelped at the sudden appearance of one not-so smug blond. "Hey," she said back once she finally caught her breath. Her eyes glanced warily around the room; it was bustling with people in anticipation of the match so, it wasn't _completely_ out of protocol for him to be there, but it wasn't exactly normal either. "What's going on?"

"Delacour," he murmured, pretending to pluck at her racquet strings in a faux demonstration; Hermione leaned in to play along. "The French woman you're up against today," he said. "She's got a wicked backspin so, be careful about that. She almost always leans toward an offensive lob, as well. She's got a tell, though. Watch her feet. She does a little dance," – Malfoy imitated the maneuver quickly – "right before she's about to go for it. If you can get to the net fast enough - "

"That would give me time to recover the ball." Hermione finished. She glanced up at him as he backed away to end his faux demonstration on her strings. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Let's just say I want to see you try and beat me with your _new partner_ ," teased Malfoy before collecting Theo and heading to the stands.

Hermione's head spun as she and Harry stepped out onto the court; she wanted to believe he'd been truthful, but it was difficult when there was no logical reason for it. Astonishingly, Hermione didn't have to wait long to see if Malfoy's tip had been true. The beautiful blonde woman sent an offensive lob their way within the first two minutes of the first set; neither she nor Harry had any hopes of reaching the ball before it soared above both their heads.

The next time, though, Hermione had caught the little dance and managed to (barely) save the second set. By the third one, she was able to not only predict the lob, but also send it careening over to just within their baseline.

At the end of the match, once Harry had successfully secured them a win in the third set with an ace, Hermione's eyes floated through the crowd of cheering onlookers; her brown eyes met silvery ones and her heart leapt.

Hermione, however, stuffed that particular feeling deep, _deep_ down.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 13

_Audio Broadcast_

**Rita:** "Today marks the last – and final – day of Wimbledon, ladies and gentlemen! It has been a marvelous tournament, so far, but it looks like it all comes down to this. Great Britain was thrilled to take home the gold in not only the Men's Doubles, but also the Women's Singles!"

 **Gilderoy:** "Hooray!"

 **Rita:** "Yes. Thus far, the French team was successful in securing gold for their country in the Women's Doubles. The newcomer, Harry Potter, of America, was able to overthrow the previous champion – in both the Australian and French Opens as well as other previous tournaments – and take the gold this time."

 **Gilderoy:** "Everybody loves Harry!"

 **Rita:** "Hm. Sure. Well, with his former nemesis, Tom Riddle, suspended for the next two years, I daresay he _is_ looking at a bright future. That is, unless, perhaps one of our own decides to step into the Men's Singles and take him on? Rumor has it, ladies and gentlemen, that Theodore Nott Jr. has some very exciting news to release at the end of this calendar year. Could it be that _he_ intends to break away and compete in the Men's Singles?"

 **Gilderoy:** "Splendid!"

 **Rita:** "You know what, Gilderoy… It _would_ be splendid. For now, however, we will have to focus on the current matter at hand. The last category to be won – the Mixed Doubles. With all of the controversy surrounding the _very newly_ formed American team, I do hope our long-time favorites, Malfoy and Parkinson, are able to take home the gold today."

 **Gilderoy:** "I love gold!"

 **Rita:** "That doesn't surprise me. Well, with the competition about to begin, let's take a look at our athletes, shall we?"

 **Gilderoy:** "Who?"

 **Rita:** "Parkinson and Malfoy step up to the court. Granger and Potter are next. All four look extremely eager to compete today. The first serve goes to Parkinson – She sends is rocketing toward Potter's corner and – Oh, he's saved it – Now, it's in Malfoy's hands – Granger was able to save that too - "

 **Gilderoy:** "This is rather exciting!"

* * *

Draco's lungs _burned_.

He sprinted back and forth the backcourt because of Potter's bloody erratic swings. The first set Draco had primarily caught the ball from Potter's direction, then sent it soaring toward Granger; unintentionally, of course, but Pansy noticed.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed, engaging in a chip and charge shot, "Switch it up. You're predictable. Do you want to win this or not?"

Draco grimaced. He _did_ want to win so, why was he incapable of purposefully sending his best shots toward Granger? Then, again, Draco had a pretty good idea of the reasons why. Whenever he ended up near the net at the same time that she was near it, every movement brought flashbacks to the forefront of his mind; making it near impossible for him to focus.

The soft grunt that escaped her lips as her racquet connected with the ball reminded him of the similar noise she made when he encircled his fingers around her clit. The beads of sweat dripping down her neck to her décolletage reminded him of his tongue against her fragile skin, causing him to inadvertently lick his lips. Then, there was the slightly hazy look that took over her face when she saved a shot; it was parallel to her sex eyes.

Rather than argue with Pansy – because they were quite literally in the middle of the second set – he switched up his tactic and started aiming toward Potter's region. Draco lunged for a ball that barely slipped past Pansy's backhand; he ran around the backhand side and hit the ball crosscourt forehand.

He hastily wiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes with the sweatband around his wrist and shifted forward to take Pansy's place by the net as she backed up to send a flat shot toward Granger. It was Pansy's signature hit; controlled, accurate, and painting the lines.

Granger lined up the next serve, earning a quick point with an ace.

Draco cursed under his breath, then prepared for Potter's usual backspin following Pansy's serve. However, Granger lunged forward, cutting Potter off, and hit the ball just over the net. Draco didn't have time to react; he returned her near drop shot with a reflex volley and won the second match.

At their allotted five-minute break, Draco poured freezing-cold water down his face before managing to sip at the remains of the bottle. When offered another one, he declined it; if he would be running nearly as many suicides across the backcourt, then he didn't want _any_ liquids sloshing around his stomach, making him slower.

"Hey," he murmured to Pansy, wiping at the sweat at the base of his neck with a towel, "We have a chance here. If we win this set, we win the match. We can dethrone the Americans and take the gold."

"I know that," snapped Pansy. "I want nothing more than to dethrone that know-it-all Granger, but do _you_ , Draco?"

He blinked.

"What the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Pansy shot him a tired glare, before sobering her expression for the sake of any nearby photographers. "You know exactly what that means," she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "There are rumors, Draco, that you and Theo have gotten _close_ with them and - "

"Whoa," he interrupted, wrapping his hand around her wrist to halt her before they made their way back onto the court for the final set. "You can't be serious, Pans? First of all, don't drag Theo into this. Second of all, those are _just rumors_."

"So, there's absolutely no truth to them, then?"

His heart beat murderously in his chest; pressing against his ribcage and threatening to break through it. Draco sincerely hoped Pansy couldn't smell the deceit dripping from his pores.

"No."

"Good," she smirked. "Then, you shouldn't have any opposition to what I'm about to suggest." Pansy paused emphatically, slapping her racquet against the bottom of her tennis shoes. "Don't let Granger get the ball." She said. "Ever. We can handle Potter's mediocre, wild swings much better than her calculated ones. Like you said – this is _it._ We either win or we lose, and I want to win."

Draco merely nodded.

Then, Pansy tossed a ball into the air to start the final set.

* * *

Wimbledon Championships:

Day 13

_Audio Broadcast_

**Lee:** "Two sets down, one to go! This is truly peak athleticism, folks! Our Granger and Potter were able to win the first set, though I will admit, it was a close one! The second set, however, went to the British Parkinson and Malfoy, but it all comes down to this last set. What do you think, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Try Gillyweed!"

 **Lee:** "That's new! Oh, here they go – Parkinson sends a killer serve into Potter's corner – he forehands it back – Parkinson's got it again – OH AND THAT'S A POINT TO THE BRITS,"

 **Luna:** "Team Slytherin!"

 **Lee:** "Is that their nickname? I haven't heard – POTTER DIVES FOR THE BALL PREVENTING PARKINSON FROM SCORING AGAIN – This is insane, Potter is all over the ball this set. Where is Granger when – MALFOY BACKSPINS AND IT – POTTER'S GOT IT AGAIN,"

 **Luna:** "Why is it always you three?"

 **Lee:** "Yes, why _is it_ always the three of them? Granger has yet to touch the ball this set, which is as remarkable as it is unheard of! Perhaps, this is a strategic move on their part."

 **Luna:** "Whose part?"

 **Lee:** "Ooh, good point, Luna! I wonder if – OH, SHE'S GOT IT NOW – Incredible! Granger evens the score with a beautiful American twist, or more commonly known as a kick serve – and it's back to Malfoy – Potter – Parkinson – Potter – What a rally, holy cow! – Malfoy again – OH, WHOA, GRANGER WHAT THE - "

* * *

Hermione could see _exactly_ what they were trying to do; she was flattered, obviously, but mostly irate. However, this was the third set – always her best set performance-wise – which meant Hermione was able to more accurately get a feel for her opponents, compared to her previous observation. Being _on_ the court, playing against them, was key to her skill set.

Malfoy's partner, Parkinson, was difficult to read.

She was powerful, unpredictable, and had no discernable tell. It was infuriating, especially when Hermione wanted more than anything to take control of the set. So, rather than focus on Parkinson – who was clearly twice as clever as she was skilled (and she was _skilled_ ) – Hermione opted to switch tactics and focus on Malfoy.

He was strong, quick, and so fucking _hot_. It made it difficult for her to see him as an opponent, especially when all she could think about was his body pressed up against hers, his mouth on hers, and his witty tongue –

Hermione blinked.

As a shot soared past her ear, aiming itself at Harry, something clicked in Hermione's labyrinth of knowledge.

Malfoy had a tell.

Not only did he have a tell, but he was probably unaware of it; this was doubly beneficial to Hermione. She crouched, attempting – and failing – to interfere in one of the forehands Parkinson sent flying toward Harry again. Hermione watched carefully as the ball connected with Malfoy's racquet. His tongue flicked over his lips just before his eyes landed on the incoming ball. It went careening over the net back toward Harry. That particular maneuver was one of his favorites; a reflex volley.

Hermione waited for the next time the ball went towards him and he flicked his tongue over his lips; when it did, at the opportune moment, Hermione interceded and managed to successfully steal the ball. She hit a swift backspin toward their no-man's land, earning a point.

Only one more and they would win.

And she would be serving for the set.

Hermione could taste victory in the salty sweat dripping from her lips.

She smirked mercilessly at Harry, earning a flashing grin from him, then accepted a ball from one of the ball boys; it bounced on the court once, twice, before she launched it into the air, just above her voluminous curls.

Hermione's specialty – other than accurately discerning other players' strengths and weaknesses – was her serve.

The ball landed with ease in the far corner at the back of their service box and with too much power on it for Parkinson to save it; the ace not only won Hermione and Harry the set, but also the overall match. They were the champions.

Hermione was a champion, again.

Now, she only needed to win the Mixed Doubles at the US Open next month for this year to be the _perfect_ debut year for her international tennis career; at her age, too, it would be one hell of an achievement. That is, of course, if a certain British duo didn't take it from her.

She handed her racquet to an aide before approaching Parkinson and Malfoy at the net. She shook hands with Parkinson first, noting that although the other woman wore a smile across her pink lips, there was a flash of anger behind her dark eyes. They nodded to each other, mumbled, "Well done," and moved on.

When Malfoy shifted to stand in front of her, Hermione had to resist the urge to wrap her hands around his neck. They were still very much in the public eye, and their relationship was still _very much_ forbidden.

However, she caught the glint of mischief in the curl of his upper lip that clued her into how she was going to pay for one-upping him later; her stomach twisted into knots at the thought of his hands on her… his lips…

"Good game," she murmured, a bit out of breath (and not from the match).

"Yes," he replied, shaking her hand and gripping it tightly. "Well done, Granger."

She didn't let go; neither did he.

After realizing that Harry was lingering nearby, ready to head off the court, and that they had clearly been offering niceties for far too long, Hermione reluctantly dropped her hand. She brushed past him to join Harry and hoist up their well-earned trophies. As she clipped his side, though, Hermione tugged inconspicuously on the hem of his shirt.

"See you at the US Open next month, _Malfoy?_ "

His head dropped so that his mouth lingered near her ear; his breath hot against her skin.

"I look forward to it,"

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this prequel hasn't completely ruined the original for any of you. If it did then I regret to inform you there will be a sequel for the original coming soon xx


End file.
